


Jodie & Jones

by that_one_british_alien_from_doctor_who (nancynotruth)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Martha Jones, Companions Meet Companions (Doctor Who), Cybermen - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Martha Jones Deserves Better, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Season/Series 11, The doctor has made many mistakes, Thirteen & Martha can be read as slash or gen, and is acutely aware of every single one, overpowered sonic screwdriver, so just regular sonic screwdriver
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nancynotruth/pseuds/that_one_british_alien_from_doctor_who
Summary: The Doctor is running along a corridor—and feeling quite happy about it, too—when she runs straight into one of the biggest regrets of her life: Martha Jones. The girl she turned into a soldier, whose family she had tortured, who pulled her back from the ledge over and over again and who she treated horribly the entire time.And as she is reeling from their impact, the tunnel collapses around them. So now she's stuck in a caved-in tunnel with Martha Jones, who thinks she's a human named Jodie Oswald and who keeps talking about her horrible ex-friend, the Doctor.Great. Molto Bene.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones, Tenth Doctor/Martha Jones, Thirteenth Doctor & Martha Jones, Thirteenth Doctor/Martha Jones
Kudos: 3





	Jodie & Jones

“I used to have this friend,” Martha says, leaning her head resignedly against a filthy steel wall. “He had this thing that looked kind of like a laser pointer, and anything he waved it at opened up. Just like that. If he were here, we would’ve been free hours ago.”

“Yes, but maybe I don’t want to _use_ my laser pointer thingy, because then you’d know I’ve been lying to you,” the Doctor mutters, her hand twitching towards her pocket for the billionth time.

“What was that?” Martha asks, looking up with an effort.

“Nothing,” the Doctor says, “although that probably sounds suspicious. In that case, I was actually saying lots of things. I’m a talker.”

“Alright,” Martha says, shrugging and leaning back again. She doesn’t really trust this woman—she can count the people she really trusts on one hand—but she can’t exactly choose who she got stuck with in caved in alien-made mineshaft. So unless future circumstances warranted, she won’t put in the energy to incapacitate her. She’s not sure how much longer she’ll _have_ the energy. The air is getting so thin. She doesn’t know how this woman is still pacing.

The Doctor reaches the far wall for the seventy-sixth time and turns around, purposefully avoiding Martha’s appraising gaze. What with all the rubble from the cave in, there are only about two meters of traversable space, but the Doctor is determined to pace out every possible step. Hopefully, she’ll look busy enough that Martha won’t want to make small talk. Plus, she hasn’t gone this long without running in weeks and her legs are beginning to itch.

She had been running, right before the tunnel had caved in. That had been brilliant. Nobody had been running with her, which made it a little bit less brilliant, but then she’d crashed right into Martha Jones! Good old Doctor Martha Jones, after all these thousands of years. Talk about a Time Lord’s luck (Time Lady’s luck, whatever). Unfortunately, the force of their impact had caused a cave in. And the Doctor had realized which year it was, and her newly restored emotional capacity had reminded her that Martha was almost definitely (and rightfully) very upset with her (him) right now. Which brought the situation back to less than brilliant. She wished, not for the first or the millionth time, that she’d been just a bit nicer to Martha.

“I’m not sure how much this oxygen will last,” Martha says. Sweat drips down her neck and pools in the hollow of her chest. She doesn’t have the energy to wipe it away anymore. She’s been in much less oxygenated conditions, but that doesn’t make this any better.

“I’m sure we have, oh, another twenty five minutes or so,” the Doctor says, reaching up to scratch behind her left ear, and then immediately flinging her hand away from her head and catching her little finger on the chain connecting her earrings. “Ow!”

“Oh my god!” Martha said, scrambling to her feet, her exhaustion almost forgotten as her medical training kicks in. “You’re bleeding!”

The Doctor, resisting the reflexive impulse to reach up and feel the blood, crosses her arms firmly around her chest, doing her best to block out the beat of her two hearts as Martha nears. Stupid, stupid Doctor. If she keeps reverting back to Sandshoes’ mannerisms, Martha will figure out who she is in no time. She needs to get a handle on herself before she says something completely idiotic like _Allons-y._ Looking back, Sandshoes really hadn’t been her coolest time period.

“It’s okay!” The Doctor says quickly, taking what she hopes is a casual step back. “No need to come any closer. A little bleeding is healthy, really. You know, back in the middle ages…”

“Yeah, I know, I was there,” Martha mutters. “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.” _Good old Martha Jones._ “I’m just going to check your ear, make sure you’re okay.”

“You really don’t have to…oh, okay, you already are.” The Doctor shifts her weight from one foot to the other, arms still firmly crossed over her chest. “Don’t mind if my blood’s a bit dark. Does that sometimes.”

“Does it really?” Martha asks absentmindedly, carefully checking for rips in the doctor’s earlobe and helix. “You’ve jostled the peg just enough to make it bleed, not enough for any major damage. Once we’re out of here, you should clean the wound daily and apply petroleum jelly for a week or so, until it starts to heal up.”

“Oh, it’ll be alright,” the Doctor says, stepping backwards again (not quite as unobtrusively) and nearly tripping over a chunk of the former ceiling. “I heel awfully quickly. But still within the parameters of the average human’s healing capacity, of course.”

“Reckon we’ll be stuck here for much longer?” Martha ignores her companion’s strangeness (she’s gotten quite good at that recently) and crosses her arms as well, reluctant to sit back down now that’s she’s upright.

“Nah, I have some friends and I think they’ll be along any moment,” the Doctor says, smiling, still not looking directly at Martha. “I’ve always had brilliant friends.” _You were brilliant._

“Really?” Martha says, her tone flattening. “Mine have been a bit lacking, sometimes.”

“Oh.” The Doctor keeps her face perfectly neutral, with a hint of questioning, but she feels like she’s been slapped.

“He was great, most of the time,” Martha continues, awkwardly swinging her crossed arms. “But there’s only so much you can do without thanks, you know? Only so many menial jobs, people looking down on me for my skin, other women…” Martha abruptly cuts herself off. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“I guess I just have one of those faces.” The Doctor shrugs, crossing her arms even tighter, now more of a comforting hug than a barrier. “And for what it’s worth, I think he was really grateful. The gratefullest.”

“How would you know?”

“Me? I’ve just known people like that. I’ve _been_ people like that. They don’t appreciate what they have until it’s gone.”

“He certainly seemed to appreciate something that was gone,” Martha says sharply, and the Doctor feels a sharp pang of regret twisting insistently next to her ectospleen.

“From what you say, with no other information from any other sources, I think that maybe your friend was grieving,” the Doctor says, letting her arms fall reluctantly to her sides and taking a half step towards Martha. “Maybe he really liked you a lot, but he’s an idiot who let the past get in his way. Maybe he’s really sorry right now. Wherever he is. I wouldn’t know.”

“Thanks,” Martha says, flashing the Doctor a sad little smile. “Martha. Martha Jones.”

“Jodie Oswald,” the Doctor says in her most confident voice, sticking out her hand, carefully angled so that Martha couldn’t feel her double pulse while shaking. She makes a mental note to thank Yaz next time she sees her, for that long afternoon in the TARDIS console room coming up with a replacement for John Smith. “Lovely to meet you, Doctor Martha Jones.”

“Lovely to meet you as well, even if it is in these circumstances.” Martha smiles at her, a full smile this time, and the Doctor feels like she’s been punched, right on top of the knife and the slap. She (he) never deserved a smile from Martha Jones.

“Doc!” A muffled voice calls from outside, and the Doctor lets out a breath she forgot she’d been holding. “Doc, we’re coming in.”

“We got an earth mover,” That’s Ryan. The Doctor’s smile, which had almost disappeared, brightens once again. “It’ll get you outta there proper soon.”

“You alright, Doctor?” Yaz shouts over the noise.

“We’re alright!” Martha calls back. “We need some medical aid for a small injury. Nothing too urgent.”

“I’m fine!” The Doctor snaps, before she catches herself. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly.

“What have you got to be sorry for?” Martha asks, and the Doctor, smile still firmly planted on her face, wants to cry.

It’s a long wait for the first chink of light, but once it comes the rest is quick and messy. The wall caves, sending the Doctor and Martha scarpering over old rubble to avoid being crushed by the new. And there, out in the slightly lighter portion of the tunnel, are their saviors.

“Fam!” The Doctor calls. “Brilliant! You must have heard that Doctor Jones was in here, because you were calling for a Doctor and that’s not me. I’m just plain old Jodie Oswin…” the Doctor scrunches her nose “…Oswald,” she finishes lamely.

“Your name is Jodie Oswin Oswald?” Graham asks, completely bemused. “Then why have we been calling you—”

“It was given to me,” the Doctor says, nodding as subtly as she can to Yaz, who jabs Graham in the ribs. “As a name.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Graham says. “Sorry, Doc.”

“It’s quite alright,” Martha says. Graham looks at her, and back to the Doctor, and back to Martha, and finally shrugs and gives up.

“Fam, Doctor Martha Jones,” the Doctor says, already moving towards the cave entrance, coat flapping behind her. She debates taking it off, just in case. “Doctor Jones, the Fam. Ryan’s the young one, Graham’s the old one, Yaz’s the girl one.”

“Thanks a lot, _Jodie_ ” Graham mutters. The Doctor ignores him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! Please, let me know what you think. Comments/kudos are chicken soup for this poor author's soul. 
> 
> Happy holidays! Stay safe.


End file.
